


Sól

by aslaug



Category: God of War (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Codependency, M/M, Old Norse, Slow Burn, enemies to not exactly lovers because we don't do romance here, mixed canon and game mythology, sort of an alternative ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-25 10:48:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30087951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslaug/pseuds/aslaug
Summary: He is the war that one does not return from. He is the eternal flame that makes it hard to look away. He is what will remain of one after one is gone.But Baldur does not know that yet. He keeps going, his chin high, while the sun is scorching warnings into his back with its radiant whip.
Relationships: Baldur/Kratos (God of War)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 10





	1. fundur

**Author's Note:**

> Here's me making peace with the fact that I can't escape Baldur's canonical fate any longer but still hopelessly advocating the deserved redemption arc.  
> I promise it's not going to be a retelling of the events in the game! Their first encounter is just too perfect to leave it out.

When Baldur hears the word _cure_ , for the first time in forever he listens. Coming from anyone else, he would have sooner dismissed it as a fool's notion and moved on with his business; he has combed all the way around six realms in his futile search, so he doubts anyone would know something that he already doesn't. When, however, none other than the Allfather himself comes forth with the claim of possessing the valuable information, Baldur shuts up and listens. As he is standing in the grand hall, eye to eye with the God of Wisdom, among many other things, his heart skips a treacherous beat, and Baldur knows that it does not escape Odin's notice, seeing how the corner of his mouth twitches – victorious, already. Baldur does not need to agree to anything: there was never any doubt that he would flip the whole world upside down in his never-ending pursuit if it means that the cure is more than just a bittersweet dream he is desperate enough to childishly believe in.

There is got to be more, of course, to the Allfather's sudden benevolence, so when Baldur makes out things such as _the paramount task_ and _I require you at the peak of your abilities_ over the increasing noise of his feverish heartbeat, he perches up his ears. But then the word _giant_ is thrown in, and he can barely stand still in anticipation.

"You are to seek out a _jötunn_ known as The Guardian and apprise me of its whereabouts. Once it is done, spare yourself the trouble of bringing it down. Do come back to me in short order, and your brother will take the matter in his hands," Odin explains to him. 

And that is such a fancy fucking way of saying _I don't trust you with killing a giant_. Because, of course, there is always Thor, a perfect fail-proof tool, if only somewhat dispassionate lately, seeing how little can impress him nowadays. Oh, Baldur will take on any challenge if it means that there is a chance that it can make him forget about the everlasting boredom if only for a short time. It would be a waste to send Thor out there to end the existence of the entire race with one frigid swing of his hammer when Baldur can do the same and savour the very moment of clashing with a powerful foe, then come back home victorious and claim his prize, his _normalcy,_ the very life he has been robbed of. 

He could not ask for a better scenario, could he?

Thor, on the other hand, seems to have forgotten how to respect his opponent. And if there is no respect, there is also no joy in getting the upper hand, making the target just another vague name on the list you didn't even bother to make.

But of course, the Allfather commands respect in his own ways and one does not go ahead questioning them, however much Baldur would like to do exactly that.

"I have received word of a certain location in Midgard that has recently appeared in place of snowed in barrens. I believe you will agree with me that it is most unusual, so I suggest you start there. And my son," the Allfather's voice rolls around the marble walls of the hall as Baldur turns around to leave. "Do everything in your power to stay safe. Be warned, however," he continues, as Baldur takes another defying step towards the door, "that failure is not an option _._ You may leave now."

Baldur cannot decide whether Odin knows him too little or too well, so he just laughs it off.

Fail?

What an absurd thing to say.

-

Baldur has always found Midgard properly underwhelming. No matter where you look, there is nothing worthy of seeing; the big snake is too dormant to impose any kind of peril and Thor's ridiculous statue oozes with _Look here! Look at me! I'm so fucking smug!_ making Baldur want to roll his eyes. There is no polished pomp around so common to Asgard's halls, just water, weed and decay. It is, in fact, what it is: a rotting corpse of the past, too mediocre and unimpressive to want to stay for longer than necessary. Baldur does not even need to be able to smell to know that the place reeks.

Taking in the area from atop of Dagsetr, Baldur commands the dragon to follow the path which leads him further west, where the water breaks down into a bunch of shallow creeks that run along snowy plains. As Baldur dismounts, it is almost no fun how easy it gets to find Odin's _most unusual location_ from there. One golden marking conjured into a massive boulder would seem unremarkable in an area soaking in all kinds of runes and magical seals. If only there were not more here and there, pieced together into one coherent pattern; a guiding line. It seems to be coming from the depth of the forest and leading in the opposite direction from his course, so following it, Baldur assumes, should take him to the starting point. 

The marks are enchanted, there is no doubt. Each of them glows from afar with a soft inviting shimmer, dimming gradually the closer you approach them. And nothing screams _jötunn_ like magically infused runes scattered around the area. Does the giant _expect_ to be found? Baldur does not know what to make of it and the mere fact fuels his fervour like nothing else does anymore.

The pattern ends abruptly with a golden palm print stamped on the bark of a tree. Baldur presses his palm against it; the mark is larger alright, so he is indeed on the right track. A few paces further, and Baldur finds himself in front of a little hut, sitting silently in the clearing in the woods, ramshackle and old like everything else in Midgard. Right next to the hut, Baldur spots remains of a pyre, a few embers still smouldering in the pile of burnt wood. 

It is fresh.

He approaches the pyre and picks up an ember between his fingers, where it instantly crumbles into dust, ash blackening his fingertips.

He takes a moment to consider his options. Whatever awaits him behind the door, he knows is going to be thrilling. Would have been, he reminds himself, if only Odin had not forbidden him to fight. At this point, he should turn around, go back to Asgard, tell the Allfather that he was right in his suspicions and let Thor handle the rest. 

But then again, this is not about blasted Thor. This is about _him_ getting what _he_ wants and damn everyone if he is not going to take every single breath of experience to himself. He deserves that much.

Baldur beckons Dagsetr, hovering in the distance, to scoot.

He knocks on the door.

Silence.

The muffled sound of the racket that follows immediately inside the hut does not escape Baldur's keen ear, and in a moment everything goes quiet again.

The giant must think him foolish. Well someone is about to get disappointed. He knocks again, louder this time.

"I know you're in there," Baldur shouts. "Come on out now!"

The door swings open, making Baldur whistle at the view of a man that appears before him. Baldur gives him an appraising up and down.

"I thought you'd be bigger." Still more impressive than everything else he has seen around. Baldur's eyes graze against the man's body, where muscle upon muscle layer up into one impressive bundle wrapped in distinctive ashen skin; the man is of unusual appearance, exotic even. There can be no doubt now. "But you're definitely the one."

"What do you want?" the giant demands curtly.

"Oh but you already know what I want," Baldur looks up at him, expectantly. _You led me here yourself_ , he thinks. "I've just come to take it. Peacefully or by force – I'm going to let you choose. Believe me, it's been a long time since I let them choose."

The man looks back at him for a moment, as if searching Baldur's face for a hint, but then his face adopts the same unreadable expression.

"There is nothing this place can offer you. Leave."

The door slams shut in Baldur's face. He lets out a frustrated sigh; this is not going to go smooth, but if the giant wants to put up a fight, Baldur can give it to him. He knocks again and then one more time before the door opens once more. The man stares him down in silent perseverance.

"Aren't you friendly," Baldur jests as he tries to peek inside the house, but the man's broad form obscures the entire view. The giant notices Baldur's eyes wandering, so he takes a step forward and closes the door behind himself.

"What do you want?"

Baldur throws his head back with an exasperated groan. "And I thought your kind was supposed to be enlightened, so much better than us, so much smarter. But instead, you're hiding in the woods, like a _coward._ "

His provocation seems to have missed the mark, as the man's face doesn't even flinch.

"Your talk does not make sense to me, stranger. Leave my home."

Baldur reads the unyielding determination of an ancient mountain in the mere way the man faces him. He does look intimidating, Baldur can give him that much. But not in a way the man intends to make him feel, no. Baldur isn't scared of him, but there is something about the air around him, _something_ promising Baldur can't quite put his finger on but is itching to find out. 

"I'm not leaving without you, old man," Baldur takes a step forward until his toes bump into the man's leather boots. "I know who you are. Most importantly, I know where you're from."

The giant stands his ground, but when a shadow of distress shrouds his face for only a moment, Baldur notices it. "You do not want this fight."

Ah, the usual. 

"Why, because it's going to hurt?" Baldur taunts him. It's always satisfying to boil their blood first, to get them hot under the collar, to make them want to go all in. And once they do, they never see what comes next. "Don't promise me anything you can't deliver," he looks the man straight in the eyes. With the anticipation of a challenge. With hope. 

But despite the hope that this time will be different, Baldur still cannot help but plan the whole thing out – out of habit; there is no strike, no blow that he does not expect because there is nothing that he has not already seen all the others go for. 

He slaps the man on the face.

The giant lifts his head with an unwavering dignity, scans Baldur's face, takes his time. Almost as if giving Baldur the last chance to reconsider.

Baldur wets his lips. He has been holding his breath and it is starting to bang against his lungs in a plea for release with dull, stifling kicks.

All his planning crumbles to dust as the man's fist connects with his jaw.

Baldur finds himself a few good paces away from where he was standing. He does not need to feel pain from the punch to acknowledge the raw force that it comes with.

He breathes out and grins, thinking: _What a show-off._

-

A century of immortality is akin to standing in stagnant waters, waist-deep in steel-grasp mud, sinking in the impenetrable thickness of reeds. Nothing comes your way, and, eventually, you learn to stop expecting that it will, cease throwing your body against the motionless surface in vain attempts to cause a stir. Baldur considers such a state to be a point of no return, ultimate death of mind in which one finds no peace but only a heartbreaking void. 

He keeps fighting it. Protects the little flame of hope that there is still a way to become normal again. 

He wishes he remembered what it was like but now he is not even sure if it ever had a place to be.

In his undertakings of battling the torpor, Baldur has clashed with an unfair share of men, women, beasts and creatures of all sorts, one no different than the other. He used words before he used his strength; he was furious with Mother, but just because of her his mission did not have to be permeated with blood through and through. He, however, quickly learned that very few were willing to be reasoned with, while the majority possessed the boastful confidence of a god trapped in a fragile body of a mortal being. Eventually, Baldur lost the patience to tell them apart, and everybody who he had met along the way had become no more than an obstacle, unnecessary hindrances on his path, distracting him, slowing him down. So he has stopped asking, stopped demanding, stopped trying to negotiate.

The old man was the first one in a long time that Baldur left with a choice. He was the first one who has ended up victorious. _Way too uncanny, way too promising to let go,_ Baldur thinks as idle river torrents carry away his defeated body where it tumbled down, the wounds already healed.

 _No_ , Baldur thinks. Thor can go fuck himself.

The giant is his.


	2. fylgðir

To lose your mind, Baldur thinks, proves no more difficult than losing a pouch poorly tied to your waistband. Baldur doesn't lose things, yet his sanity seems to be rapidly leaking through the growing cracks of his composure.

Whatever he does, wherever he goes, nothing leads him towards the giant, nothing gives away any clue about his whereabouts. When Baldur makes his way back to the remains of the hut he isn't surprised to find it empty; the chances of the man staying to guard his abode were, in all honesty, measly (considering there wasn't much left to guard), but Baldur wouldn't be such a good tracker if he blindly disregarded details others might deem worthless. A thought: why did the old man seem so overly keen on keeping him at arm's length from the inside of his house? Baldur knew he didn't imagine it, so when the rubble and havoc reveal to him two broken beds, Baldur takes in the discovery with a modicum of pride.

The path of golden handprints remains in place, now merely a confusing complication; Baldur was certain that the giant was playing some elaborate mind games with him. He still might. However surprised he seemed when Baldur followed the guiding line to his house does not necessarily mean it was not a part of his plan. 

Baldur takes a moment to think. 

The next logical thing to do is following the marks in the opposite direction of the hut, wherever they may lead, and hope it won't prove to be a catastrophic waste of time. 

Is that what the giant expects? 

Baldur sits down on a fallen log and drops his face in his hands, feeling bitter and frustrated. At this point, he has even less to work with than he did at the start. Does the fact that he has found two beds inside the house even mean anything? Does the giant travel with a companion? Or did it simply belong to whoever was recently burnt on the pyre? If he didn't want to be found, then why scatter his handprints all around the forest, making it look like he expected someone to pick up the trail? Who was it meant for, then?

There is nothing that he understands about the man and Baldur hates feeling at a loss. 

One thing he is certain of is that he has found the right man.

Baldur wants information. Who exactly is he going after? Why is Odin so hung up on this particular _jötunn?_ How is he connected to the cure? 

There goes the least pleasant part: he needs help.

-

Odin stares him down in silence, as if unsure of what to say until he forces a pleased expression onto his face; a telltale move that makes Baldur prepare to hear anything but answers to his questions. "I admire your curiosity. It is the best gift bestowed on any living creature."

 _So tell me everything you know,_ Baldur but pleads inside.

"Knowledge, however, is a weapon not every living creature is apt to wield."

And that is it. Odin doesn't owe anyone explanations or elaboration even if it were of crucial help in achieving his own goals.

"I have faith in your aptitudes. After all, plenty of those you have learned from me. Go now."

Baldur inhales sharply, not willing to give up easily. He is out of demure things to say so he simply demands: "Why don't you just _help_ me?" 

Odin's brows shoot up in surprise. His lips narrow, a straight pale line under his moustache.

Naturally, the Allfather is outraged.

"I shall not have you spit insolence in my face, boy! You need help? Then help you shall get." Odin turns his head towards one of his raven pets, perched on his right shoulder, and whispers something Baldur assumes must be an order, seeing how the bird immediately takes off and flies away, accompanied by its blood-chilling clamour. Odin lifts his chin high, and as his voice thunders across the hall Baldur can't believe what he's hearing. "The two sons of Thor shall accompany you on your mission. They shall watch your back and see to it that you do not lose the _jötunn_ within the first day of locating it _again_."

Baldur is a breath away from bursting into a fit of protests, but the look on Odin's disgruntled face tells Baldur that he is a god first and a father second.

Baldur doesn't need followers, he needs information, one thing that Odin has plenty to spare. He can't imagine how his nephews could be of any help when he has always been at his best when working alone. 

And now _this_! This is not the help, it is a punishment that Baldur will need to find a way to work around. Another complication. Another hindrance. 

It has to be.

-

While Magni does everyone a substantial favour by quietly accepting Baldur's leadership, Modi seems to go out of his way in making it evident how miserable he is because of Odin's decision, how this is not his business to take care of, and how he has better things to do, really, than chase after a _jötunn_ who isn't even his to slain. 

(Baldur took heed to make it that much clear.)

"Do you even have the slightest idea of where we're to go? Are _we_ supposed to know? Because I don't. Then again, what else is this all about? Family bonding promenade?"

"Brother–"

"Do you have a plan? Directions? Why am I even asking? If you did, you wouldn't need _help_ , am I right?"

When it comes to delicate matters of dealing with frustration, unlike Modi, Baldur has had enough time to exercise patience. 

Modi, though, is beginning to test it.

" _Excellent tracker_ , they say. Baldur _the Excellent!_ Baldur _the Beautiful_! Who comes up with all these names? They call you _Pride of the Æsir_ , while you spend all your time wandering, uncle, among outsiders, anywhere but close to your kin, I'm surprised you even remembered the way home. Will you surprise me by recalling our names, too?"

He must be truly aggrieved, Baldur thinks, if Modi resorts to making it personal head-on. But he understands him, still. Like Odin, Modi perceives the circumstances as an outcome of someone else's failure and himself as an involuntary tool for fixing it. Baldur couldn't have possibly predicted that he would fail, not after years of consecutive victories and successful missions. But he did fail, puppeted by his feelings (of all things!), and the weight of irony of it lays heavy on his mind, stimulated by gnawing confusion.

"–weren't you given the orders anyway? I wasn't there but I'm well informed that you were supposed to–"

What kind of an old man would be essentially unbeatable? He is a giant, of course, but he's no god. Thor has slaughtered countless _jötnar_ , and Baldur can easily rival Thor in his strength. 

"–what do you do? You go ahead and–"

No, he definitely isn't weaker. This is not about him at all. It's about this particular _jotünn_ being not at all the fair game that Baldur had expected him to be.

"Seriously, you haven't seen straight in years, you've become _obsessed_ with the–"

Baldur stops in his tracks and shoots a look of silent warning over his shoulder.

"I think you should've stopped at mocking the name," Magni murmurs at his brother, seemingly uncomfortable with his loquacious outburst.

Modi, predictably, goes quiet as soon as he's got Baldur's attention.

Magni says something to him that is impossible to make out from the distance and proceeds to fall into Baldur's steps once he keeps moving, leaving Modi to brood in the back.

"I'll give you credit, uncle. You've outlasted all the folk that I've seen around him when he's like this," Magni tells him, a hint of genuine amusement in his voice.

Baldur glances at him with disinterest.

"Don't mind him. He's just being sour that you got a dragon and he didn't." Magni probably means it as a joke, but Baldur wouldn't be surprised if there were some truth to it.

"He should be glad. The dragon would throw him off his back as soon as he gets up high enough," Baldur says knowingly, and then adds: "Those beasts can sense it when they're smarter than their rider."

Magni smirks at that, not unkindly. "We should head south, past the Lookout Tower. There is a passage that will lead us up the Mountain."

Baldur gives him a puzzled look. "Why to the Mountain?" 

Magni stares back at him, as surprised. "He didn't tell you? The Allfather has an informant there."

"The informant, huh?" Of course he didn't tell him. Eventually, Odin has grown just as unwilling to share his knowledge with anyone as he has always been keen on taking it from others. Or so Baldur thought. Apparently, Thor's sons fall under a category of reliable confidants, leaving Baldur… where exactly?

Odin said he had faith in Baldur's abilities, but, for all he knows, the Allfather might as well be having a good laugh watching Baldur smash his head against an unbreakable wall of a dead end.

And Modi, that fool, has the gall to be surprised that Baldur prefers to keep to himself outside the halls of Asgard.

 _The Æsir_ have changed. If asked, Baldur wouldn't be able to point out what exactly has shifted among the gods: his most distant memories manifest themselves only in nebulous fragments. But he remembers Odin, still, at the high of his seat, the gleam of his doting eyes upon young Baldur who didn't even have to lift a finger to be cherished by everyone whose sight would fall on him. He would still go and leave no stone unturned: praise and adoration always tasted the sweetest when he knew they were merited through his efforts and commitment. 

Even as a child, Baldur used to carry himself with the dignity of a young god, graceful and bright, while his brother had a hard time not toppling over his feet. Thor possessed finesse of a vat, but he was growing up robust, with an ever-present healthy flush of a vigorous boy on his full cheeks. While Thor was spending all his time learning to hunt or horse-ride and Tyr reduced his circle of playmates to runes and clay tablets, Baldur stayed at his mother's side, who would make him sing songs, or had him pressed to the icky frills of her silks, or put him on display for other gods to behold and adore.

Oh, and how they adored him, fair and beautiful and kind and so well-versed, the growing _Pride of the Æsir_ , the name now long forgotten along with his other glorifying monikers.

These days, there is no more tenderness in Odin's eyes, only weariness and distant fear that he skilfully hides under the ancient sprawling of his brows, and Baldur himself has become no more than a tool for satisfying the Allfather's whims. At least this is how he wants Baldur to feel around him. It's complex, really, everything about Odin is beyond the reach of Baldur's comprehension.

It saddens him deeply, still, making him wish he were wrong in his judgement, but neither of them comes forth with the conversation. As time passed, Odin has become more secretive and Baldur less daring to try and get anything out of him, curtailing their relationship to being exceptionally institutional.

And Mother…

Baldur shakes his head, cursing the memory away.

-

Predictably, the sons of Thor request to make occasional stops to eat and drink and sleep, of which Baldur has no need. He only asks himself for the hundredth time why Odin had to punish him like that. 

"All I'm saying," Modi exclaims at Baldur over a horn of mead, interrupted by his own belch, "is that I don't get you. Absolute vulnerability? I'll take two, thank you very much! So many opportunities, such glory awaiting you, just come and claim it. And at what cost? Can't feel shit? Ha! What is there worthy of feeling anyway? Women are only good for as long as they stay in your bed, and, believe me, that's not a long time. Now, with your abilities? That's the way to be a real man!"

This is something neither Modi nor the rest like him will ever understand, Baldur thinks. How can one possibly long for something they were never deprived of? How can one learn to appreciate something when they take it for granted instead? Baldur would trade all the glory and more for a chance to feel a ray of sunshine when it lands on his wrist at noon; for a drop of water in his throat to quench the thirst; for a woman in his bed, damn it all. Because possessing godly strength is only one way to feel yourself a man, while there are many others.

All of them out of reach.

So what does Modi know about being a real man?

In truth, more than Baldur ever has.

"You know what I think you should do?" Modi waves at him drunkenly. "Embrace the fuck out of it! Go break a face or a thousand and become the, the- the new Allfather! Ha! Now that's the life!"

"He has a point, uncle," Magni chimes in. "I say, if you can't change the situation, change how you feel about it instead."

Baldur doesn't say a word to them that night. 

Long after both of his nephews succumb to their drunken oblivion, Baldur lies on his back and stares at the sky as the stars fall, racing each other merrily towards their death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One thing that I feel I should talk about early on. As we know from the Eddas, Frigg went around the world convincing all the things that can harm her son not to harm him, and that's pretty much it. Snorri's Baldur remains a chill dude until the end, cool. From Baldur's rants in the game, though, it's possible to theorize that Freya went to even larger extremes which resulted in Baldur not only becoming invulnerable to any harm but also losing his physical senses. With that in mind it feels more plausible to see Baldur as an angry and bitter man, driven by the idea of revenge. My poor boy deserves some love :(


End file.
